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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248183">Shadow of the Past</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies'>helianskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Ghosts, Graphic Description, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Paranormal Investigators, Past Character Death, Sorry Not Sorry, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:34:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghost hunters, paranormal investigators, 'madmen'—whatever people called them, Arthur knew their purpose was to help the living and the dead alike, through whatever means necessary.</p><p>The team's latest job, however, takes them somewhere they never thought they would venture: the past. And that is just the tip of the iceberg.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Undisclosed Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Genesis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Francis set down a tray of drinks on the coffee table, just as Mikkel hurried to move some papers out of the way (God forbid they got stained) and he received the thanks of everyone in the room. He took his seat on the couch, wedged between Gilbert and Arthur, and everyone claimed their mug: be it one of tea, coffee or a hot chocolate for Alfred. They were all still waiting on Antonio, though that was hardly anything new; but until he turned up, they would have to hang fire on the day’s work.</p>
<p>Not that there was much for them to do.</p>
<p>That was the thing with paranormal investigation. Some days were incredibly busy, and other days, their services were not required. Sceptics didn’t help, but that was a whole other debate.</p>
<p>“He <em> did </em> say he was going to stop by the church on the way to get some of that holy water,” Alfred mused as he took his cup in his hands and let it warm his skin. Francis hoped he would appreciate the marshmallows hiding under the surface. “That, and I’m pretty sure he was getting his crucifix blessed again after the last run we had.”</p>
<p>“I swear, he doesn’t need to get that thing blessed,” Arthur responded, shaking his head. “It’s a crucifix, its properties are inherent to the object, not <em> given</em>.”</p>
<p>Gilbert gave a disagreeable hum at that: “Better to be safe than sorry, though, right? We all remember that incident two years ago with the revenant,” he remarked. That left the room somehow quieter. “The crucifixes barely held out against him. So I trust that Toni knows what he’s doing.”</p>
<p>“Even so,” Arthur rejoined, “he knows we meet at ten. All he has to do is wake up half an hour sooner so he can go to the <em> church </em> sooner and get here <em> on time</em>, for once.”</p>
<p>“But is it really our Antonio if he’s <em> not </em>five minutes late?” Francis said.</p>
<p>His silence said it all. </p>
<p>Arthur meant well. He was merely stressed at the moment because of the dip in business. As the team's medium, the man hated knowing that he could help people and be of use, but that people did not always come to seek that help. It bothered him to no end. Francis could see it in how his brow was creased more often that it was relaxed, in how his nails lost their shape from the anxious picking and biting, and from how he slept significantly less than normal. The stubborn man would never admit it, but he was too empathetic for his own good, at times.</p>
<p>That wasn’t to say no one else worried, of course. There were six of them in the business, and all six of them had their roles and responsibilities in ensuring their jobs went smoothly:</p>
<p>Arthur was the medium who communicated directly with spirits, helping them move on. Francis was in charge of research and daytime investigations, providing the team with everything they could possibly need to know about a job. Alfred and Mikkel worked closely with their technology—with trackers, cameras, and the specialist equipment like the EMF metres, spirit boxes and EVPs, amongst others. Antonio was the demonologist, knowledgeable in more traditional methods of cleansing and incantation to be rid of more troublesome spirits. Gilbert was the resident mother hen and qualified psychiatrist who made sure they all remained relatively sane—<em>relatively </em> being the operative word.</p>
<p>All in all, they relied on each other to ensure any job they undertook, no matter how big, dangerous or unusual, went smoothly. So far, every location they had ever had the pleasure of visiting had been cleansed. They had helped a lot of people in three years of business. </p>
<p>The shame was that not everyone believed. Not everyone who could not explain a dark shadow in the corner of the room, or a noise from the attic, or flickering light bulb, believed that it could be the work of a paranormal being. It wasn’t, always. But it was always wiser to check. </p>
<p>Not every spirit meant well.</p>
<p>In the end, it was about quarter-past-ten when Antonio came through the front door. </p>
<p>The Oxfordshire house they all gathered in belonged to Arthur and Francis, who found it more financially sound to share a larger place to serve both as their home and the base for their business. It was where they planned jobs, did their research, and decompressed after the particularly rough days.</p>
<p>Antonio seemed slightly out of breath (he must have run from his car to the front door). But he was smiling.</p>
<p>“Glad to see you could finally make it,” Arthur quipped as the brunette set down a small crate of vials (the holy water, Francis supposed) onto the coffee table. Antonio did not move to sit down anywhere. “What kept you this time, then?”</p>
<p>“Guess,” Antonio merely grinned.</p>
<p>“Did your alarm clock not go off?” Francis suggested.</p>
<p>“Car run out of gas?” Alfred piped up (Arthur corrected him with a quiet ‘<em>petrol</em>’).</p>
<p>“Wardrobe malfunction?” Mikkel added.</p>
<p>“Another philosophical debate with that priest?” Gilbert said (not hiding very well his contempt towards ‘<em>that</em>’ priest, though whatever his grudge was, it was a mystery to Francis). </p>
<p>“None of the above,” Arthur rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>From his pocket, Antonio pulled out his phone. He quickly unlocked the device and set it down on the table, as the screen lit up with an email. “I may or may not have found a job for us,” he said, rather proud of the fact. “Someone got in touch with me last night on one of the forums, so I got them to send an email with all the juicy details... And I have to say, it sounds quite interesting…”</p>
<p>As the one who typically did all the researching and client work, Francis took up the phone (with permission, obviously) so he could give the email a read for himself. It was fairly long and it went into some serious detail about the job—there was a lot to take in. From what he gathered, though, whoever this person was that had contacted Antonio, they were quite serious about what was going on.</p>
<p>In the meantime, Antonio got to explaining: “There’s this house in Somerset that belongs to this private trust,” he said, “and they maintain the manor house and its grounds for guests to visit. However, there have been some odd goings-on that have started to really get to the staff, and has seen a lot of people starting to transfer away from the property. This email comes from the woman in charge of their staff, and she believes that the house—haunted or not—needs to be sweeped and cleansed, just to be safe.”</p>
<p>“Does she include any information about the activity itself?” Arthur queried. It seemed the prospect of work had got him more engaged, more alert, more focused and awake. “What have the staff been seeing?”</p>
<p>“The usual things,” Antonio shrugged. “Moving objects, things not where they were when they had left the room… But a couple people have reported seeing an actual apparition,” he said. That had them all (minus Francis, who was still reading) even more intrigued, poised to listen closer. “They believe that the figure is the ghost of one of the house’s previous owners who died about two-hundred years ago.”</p>
<p>He let that settle with everyone. And then, Alfred made his excited noises, clapping his hands as Mikkel joined in, leaning over to him to give the other a shake to share in that same thrilling energy. Gilbert did a slightly better job of containing his excitement and instead reached up a hand for Antonio to high-five, all while Arthur looked at Francis with five words hanging in the air between them: <em> tell me what you think</em>.</p>
<p>Francis thought that they should go ahead and schedule a meeting regarding the property and these sightings, as soon as possible.</p>
<hr/>
<p>‘Sceptical about sceptics’ was what Mikkel called himself. Nothing annoyed him more than a sceptic who got in contact with them to get rid of a ‘ghost’ in the name of business rather than the wellbeing of others. Yes, they still got paid. Yes, it made their work easier. But it also made him—and the others, he didn’t doubt—feel like a fraud. Like it was all pretence.</p>
<p>It was why he was rather fond of the woman—Louise, who was in her fifties and fairly well put together—that had called them into Gallows Head House. She had made it clear when she had met them in person that morning that she did not usually consider herself a believer in lingering spirits and pesky ghosts (her words, not his!), but after being faced by so many reports, she had decided to do what she could to help the staff feel more comfortable at work. So even though she was a traditional sceptic, she sought help for good reasons, rather than greedy reasons.</p>
<p>That was why Mikkel was more than prepared to do his part and to get to the bottom of the strange goings-on in the old manor house.</p>
<p>Gallows Head itself was a Stuart-era country home that had belonged to a single English lineage, until, in the later 1700’s, the family had fallen out of favour and had had to sell their property. After a few separate dealings, the house had eventually landed in the hands of a foreigner very new to England: a successful business magnate from the Continent, who owned the house for barely two years before passing.</p>
<p>His portrait hung on the north wall of the entrance hall to the house, preserved in its humble, wooden etched frame. From what Louise had told the six of them on a private tour of the house while it was closed to visitors, the man—one Romulus Vargas—died without anyone he could leave the house to, so it went back onto the market and was sold to an Englishman, who would later bestow the house to the private trust as it became too expensive to maintain on his own.</p>
<p>Gilbert and Arthur had done most of the present-time questioning during the tour. They had asked about sightings, about rooms where there had been more activity, where the staff were most uncomfortable—such rooms included two of the bedrooms upstairs, the library and the kitchen. These rooms were photographed and Mikkel had worked with Alfred to establish whether any daytime activity took place while they were there with the help of independent cameras. There was nothing obvious they could see, even through the thermal lenses.</p>
<p>In the meantime, Francis had led questioning about Vargas—the man said to haunt the house. There was sadly very little information available on him. What Louise <em> did </em> know was that the man had been a widower, recently engaged a second time before he died—in fact, it seemed he had died during the very celebrations. Beyond that, there was not much information in any local records. His cause of death had not been clearly determined by any coroner, nor had there been a will. Really, he was a bit of an enigma. </p>
<p>“But he’s rather handsome, don’t you think?” she had remarked, when the group had all stopped to stare once more at his portrait in the entrance hall.</p>
<p>“He’s not too bad, I guess,” Gilbert had mumbled, at the same time that Antonio had made a comment about the man’s eyes: “Kind and soft—parental, even…” which had earned him a questionable look from the former, which in turn earned Gilbert a light elbowing to the side. <em> Weirdos. </em></p>
<p>All the while, Mikkel had been curious as to why his likeness had remained on the wall given the house had passed hands, but perhaps having an old-timey ‘photograph’ of their apparent ghost would be useful. At least they had more of a chance of confirming whether or not it was indeed Vargas haunting that house, and not someone else—some<em>thing </em> else.</p>
<p>They had continued to stare at the painting and admire the man’s warm features for a few moments. He had a bold smile, quite proud, and he held a powerful stance in his fashionable clothing. Francis had commended his taste. Alfred had lamented that he had not lasted very long.</p>
<p>“It makes you wonder why he could be haunting,” Louise had added as an afterthought, the group just walking back out to the front of the house, the noon sun shining down on them from above. “A man like that does not become a troublesome spirit without reason.”</p>
<p>“Quite right,” Arthur had agreed. They all had agreed, really. “I believe there may be a bigger story to Mr. Vargas and his death—there has to be something tying him to this house, stopping him from moving on.”</p>
<p>And that was how the six of them had come to the decision to stay overnight. </p>
<p>In the house.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>It wasn’t that Mikkel was scared of ghosts (it was his job to <em> not </em> be, after all) but that didn’t mean he was the most comfortable with staying in a house <em> that big</em>.</p>
<p>But even so, everyone had agreed it would be for the best. That it was their best shot at working out why Vargas (or whoever it may have been) was there, and if not that, then at least they hoped they could get some evidence of a paranormal presence in the house that they could later return to and send on their way—malicious intent or not. That, and they needed the work.</p>
<p>Their evening alone in the house had thus started at ten o’clock. Louise had agreed to let them stay overnight unsupervised, and told them she would be there at seven the next morning so that they could let her know how it all went. Naturally, she had made it clear that valuable items were all tagged and that any damage done would come out of their pocket (though plastic sheeting covered any upholstery, and the furniture was nit to be sat on)—that was just standard business. Either way, the team thanked her and assured her the house would be set to reopen as normal tomorrow. They had her number should anything get too out of hand.</p>
<p>So, yes, ten o’clock.</p>
<p>The first move had been setting up cameras in the rooms in which staff had witnessed ghost activity or the ghost itself. That included and was limited to the master bedroom in the East Wing, and one of the other bedrooms to the West, as well as the library and the kitchen at the back of the house. Arthur had stated right off the bat that he hadn’t felt any sort of presence as of yet—not even earlier that day. But that did not mean the house was empty.</p>
<p>With that in mind, Antonio suggested reaching out to any spirits with the ouija board, but that suggestion was quickly shot down. </p>
<p>“We should wait until the early hours for something like that,” Arthur replied, “when the veil thins enough to get through more clearly.”</p>
<p>Antonio conceded. “In which case, we will save it. Any other ideas?”</p>
<p>“Sit tight,” the resident psychiatrist said, “and wait to see what we get in the next few hours. I reckon shifts. Switch out, tag-team—it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit of shut-eye before the ‘magic hours’ hit.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a plan,” Mikkel nodded along. In truth, he was happy with whatever, and would do whatever was required of him. That was just how it went. </p>
<p>In the end, they went with Gilbert’s plan for the time being. Arthur, Francis and Alfred took the first hour to get in a quick nap, using the van outside as their makeshift bedroom to make sure they were undisturbed. That left Gilbert, Antonio and Mikkel in the house, keeping an eye on things in the meantime.</p>
<p>For the first half an hour, not much really happened. The static cameras didn’t pick up anything, nor did they see or hear anything for themselves that was out of the ordinary. They simply hung out in the main lounge, sat on less-than-comfortable camping chairs, engaging in normal conversation to pass the time. They talked about the possibility of a summer road-trip and where they could all go; they talked about how cool it would be to get a team dog; they talked about what film they should all watch together next.</p>
<p>And then they started theorising about their ghost.</p>
<p>“Do you think it’s really Old Man Vargas wandering around?” Gilbert asked his peers.</p>
<p>Antonio gave a slight shrug, as though unsure. “Even if it isn’t, aren’t you sort of… curious about who he was?”</p>
<p>Gilbert could only laugh. “<em>H</em><em>ardly</em>. What’s one more rich man in a whole world of ‘em?” he responded, which was a fair point in Mikkel’s opinion. “Hundreds of people die under mysterious circumstances, or in ways that we simply don’t know because History doesn’t tell us. So I don’t think that makes Vargas special. And I don’t know how much I care about how he died, compared to <em> why </em> he is still here—if he is.”</p>
<p>“Well, if that’s what you think,” the brunette brushed off. He cast his eyes to the room around them—to the painting, the mirror hanging over the ornate fireplace, the glass chandelier above—and a small smile fell on his lips. “I still think it’ll be interesting to talk to him, though.”</p>
<p>“If it even <em> is </em> him.”</p>
<p>“I have a feeling…”</p>
<p>Mikkel looked between his two friends and colleagues that completed the triangle of camping chairs, and lightly shook his head to himself. They were staring at each other, one with a raised brow (<em>not amused</em>) and the other with a grin (<em>very amused</em>). Mikkel would not get involved.</p>
<p>Personally, he was still undecided on their not-very-active ghost. </p>
<p>It was hard to come to any decisions when there had been literally nothing to evaluate—no movement, no potential orbs, no inexplicable noises… nothing that warranted them leaving them room and wandering around to start a more thorough investigation. It was policy: <em> let the ghost come to you</em>. And if by midnight they had nothing tangible, then that was then they would instigate and start trying to get the ghost or spirit or demon or whatever it may have been to come out of hiding.</p>
<p>However, when they hit the forty-seventh minute of their hour together (it was now nearing half-past eleven), Mikkel saw something on one of the camera screens on his laptop. It had been slight, minimal—not something he could be entirely certain of… But he could have sworn one of the upstairs bedroom doors had opened further than it had been before.</p>
<p>Naturally, he alerted the others to this pseudo-evidence, still not too sure if he saw it or not. Antonio seemed hopeful. Gilbert was a little more reserved.</p>
<p>"We need more than a moving door," he reasoned, stood over Mikkel's left shoulder, the devil.</p>
<p>"He might be shy," Antonio countered, to Mikkel's right shoulder, the angel.</p>
<p>"I agree with Gilbert," the blonde jumped in, nonetheless, getting off of the fence before it was too late. "Something else may come up, but I just can't be entirely sure I saw it. I would rather more than one of us see something—"</p>
<p>"What's that?"</p>
<p>Mikkel stopped and frowned slightly. "What's what?" he asked.</p>
<p>"<em>That</em>," Antonio replied, pointing to one of the camera screens. There was a shadow in a area where the upstairs hallway outside one of the bedrooms turned a corner that he then claimed had not been there a few seconds before.</p>
<p>"Are you sure it wasn't there…?" Mikkel questioned.</p>
<p>"Positive. The shadow changed shape, it's no longer a straight line from where our torch is hitting the open door," Antonio replied. "I'm fairly certain shadows don't change on their own."</p>
<p>"In that case," Gilbert said, "maybe we should get the others back in here…"</p>
<p>There was no protest.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Arthur did not end up sleeping in the van. Frankly, he would have been surprised if Francis or Alfred had actually managed to, either. Not because it wasn't comfortable (or at least, as comfortable as a sleeping bag could be), but because, with the thought that they were on a job and half of their team was still inside the house looming over them, who <em> would </em>have been able to sleep?</p>
<p>No, no, he didn't like it. So instead, Arthur stayed up and watched a separate camera feed from the safety of the truck and his blanket. Nothing seemed to be happening inside, though he didn't have a camera that showed him what Gilbert and the others were doing, so who was to say they weren't already experiencing? Who was to say the hadn't been offed by a malevolent spirit already?</p>
<p><em> Stop doing this</em>, he chided himself, <em> not every spirit means harm, and not every spirit wants to kill so much as ward people off. Do not let one bad experience ruin them all. </em> He sighed quietly and huddled down in his sleeping bag, changing the cameras and hoping that they were okay…</p>
<p>That was when the rear doors had suddenly opened, scaring Arthur shitless, as it were. </p>
<p>Needless to say that, if he had been holding something small and throwable, it would have hit Gilbert square in the head and knocked him to the ground. He supposed that made the German lucky.</p>
<p>"What the hell are you doing?" he asked Gilbert all the same, his gaze falling swiftly onto the others who had accompanied him outside. And thus left their ghost to his own devices. Unwatched. Unsupervised. <em> Fuck's sake. </em>"Why aren't you in the house?"</p>
<p>"Small signs of activity," Gilbert told him, quite to the point. "We figured it would be best to get you guys now so we can all get to work. That okay with you?"</p>
<p>Arthur bit back a sigh—one that revealed his tiredness and (acute) stress. "I suppose so," he said, before nudging Alfred with his foot and tossing his pillow at Francis. Both of them woke up fast and with a start. <em> The bastards were genuinely asleep, my God… </em>"Time to get to work. Minor activity," he told them, getting up.</p>
<p>Francis gave a soft groan as he clambered out from his covers. "Any particular sort of activity…?" he asked, voice still a little hushed from him waking up. </p>
<p>"Moving doors, shifting shadows," Mikkel reported. "Nothing one-hundred percent solid that we have seen mid-action, but we were nearing an hour anyway. It's getting close to midnight."</p>
<p>On that note, Arthur determined that they should gather up some more equipment so that, when they went back in, they could focus on a more thorough investigation of the house and its individual rooms. Alfred took charge of the thermometer and an EMF reader, while Mikkel said he would focus on photography and a thermal cam. Antonio already had what he needed—his crucifix, some holy water and also some smudge sticks—and Gilbert volunteered to look after the bag containing the ouija board and the spirit box. That left Arthur and Francis to take anything else they could need, which ended up being a spare crucifix and some basic recording equipment just in case, and of course, themselves. </p>
<p>Part of Arthur wished they had more clues as to who or what could be causing the activity in the house. A moving door and a shadow was not very much to go on, nor were the very bare tales of a foreign man dying in an unclear manner that '<em>perhaps</em>' was linked to whatever was going on. It just wasn't all that helpful. Francis had done his best with independent research that afternoon but he hadn't been able to find much more information out. It almost felt like they were going in blind.</p>
<p>Arthur didn't hate any other kind of job more. It made what he had to do so much harder.</p>
<p>The team soon re-entered Gallows Head House. <em> A pleasant name</em>, Arthur told himself as they walked into the entrance hall, <em> for a pleasant building. Not. </em> He suggested that they go upstairs to investigate what had been seen on the cameras to see if they could get any clarity on what all of that might have been about. The others had concurred unanimously. That meant they went off in the direction of the master bedroom, where their first camera had been positioned in one of the corners of the room. </p>
<p>"Temperature dips slightly in here," Alfred announced within seconds of entering the room.</p>
<p>"Just keep an eye on it," Arthur advised him, "and look out for a sudden drop. This is an old house with minimal insulation, so it having cold spots is not a surprise in of itself." </p>
<p>"Noted. Currently at five degrees for those interested," the other said all the same.</p>
<p>Arthur maintained that that was not exactly what they were looking for, but he kept that to himself. </p>
<p>The lights in the room remained off for the moment, save for the torches carried by each member of the team. Arthur had everyone other than himself and Francis turn out their lights for the time being, however, so that the spirit (or whatever it was) could see it was invited to move around, but not entirely free to get 'all up in our business', as Mikkel had once put it. All the while, nothing came up on EMF, nor were the cameras providing any further intel, so the next best bet…?</p>
<p>"Want to use the spirit box, Gil? See if we get anything on that?" the medium suggested. He still wasn't quite feeling anything too strong—nothing he could class as abnormal, or worrying—but he still believed that that did not mean anything for the moment. "With any luck, we could get some answers from that."</p>
<p>"Sure thing, just gimme a second…"</p>
<p>While Gilbert retrieved his small spirit box device from the bag, Arthur gave the room a good look at. Normally, areas were roped off to prevent visitors from touching the furniture or from making themselves comfortable on the four-poster bed. For them, however, Louise had had the rope barriers all moved aside, giving the investigators free roam of the more relevant rooms in the house. It was a big favour that Arthur was grateful he hadn't even had to ask for. Now he could pace to all four corners, study the paintings, see the details of the space.</p>
<p><em> This</em>, he figured, <em> would have been Vargas' room at some point or another. He would have slept in this bed, looked out of these windows, kept his belongings all over the place… </em>Arthur found the thought simultaneously fascinating and disturbing. One the one hand, it was rather fun to imagine what the room had been like while under the ownership of a rich Italian; on the other hand, it was never really that fun standing in the room of a dead man.</p>
<p>There was a reason Arthur never went to funerals.</p>
<p>Gilbert turned on the spirit box, having given everyone warning, and proceeded to ask questions. He tried several, including the obvious, <em> is anyone there? who are you? why are you here? </em> and none of which garnered any sort of response. At which point, he invited someone else to take over.</p>
<p>So, Alfred tried. He asked things like, <em> can you hear me? is there something you want? are you alone here? </em> which was a question Arthur was not sure he wanted an answer to (<em>God forbid there be more than one spirit, please</em>), and he counted his lucky stars in that moment that Alfred had just as much luck as Gilbert had.</p>
<p>It would have been fine had Mikkel not then reported movement on a different camera, downstairs in the kitchen. Something had been thrown. The team had hurried down a second a second set of stairs to get to the new centre of activity to try again to speak to the ghost, this time letting Francis attempt to use the spirit box.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>But this time, they did all see and hear a chair moving slightly across the ground with little bursts on energy, presumably, the wooden feet scraping on the floor. Arthur finally felt some sort of connection to the spirit wandering the halls of the house. <em> Finally. </em> Francis and Mikkel made sure to capture the incident both on audio and film. <em> This is something, </em> Arthur reassured himself. <em> The ghost can interact with real world objects, which means we can still communicate with it, and we still have a shot at getting our answers. </em></p>
<p>Arthur took it upon himself, in the midst of his sudden burst of energy and thrill, to therefore inform the ghost-being that they were going to the library; if they wished to speak to them, then that was their opportunity.</p>
<p>When they left the kitchen (which had, with the previous statement, fallen silent and still), Alfred asked what the plan was—or rather, why they were headed to the library and not continuing to conduct an investigation where they had just witnessed ghost activity for themselves.</p>
<p>"Because," Arthur explained as they walked, "the library was one of rooms where the actual apparition was seen, which means there's a chance that it is easier for the spirit to communicate there. To <em>physically appear,</em> so we can confirm their identity. So what we're going to do," he elaborated, "is set up the ouija board. Antonio and I will conduct an investigation alone and see where it gets us."</p>
<p>"Why Antonio?" Gilbert was quick to ask.</p>
<p>"Because if something unsavoury comes through instead, I'd rather have the certified demonologist on hand to banish it, rather than my psychiatrist," Arthur said to him, plain and simple. This was something they should all have been very familiar with by now (<em>so why is he even asking...?</em>).</p>
<p>"Which I get," Gilbert pressed on, "but why just the two of you? And what are the rest of us going to do in the meantime?" </p>
<p>Arthur was glad that Antonio decided to speak up and defend the motion, this time: "It's safer if it's just two of us, and it means the spirit will feel more comfortable to talk to us with less of an audience," he responded. The group turned a corner and were met by a short hallway, with one of the doors leading into the library. "It would be best for you guys to hang around outside should we need help at any point, and to monitor us."</p>
<p>With that now firmly established in everyone's minds, the team set up the library with another camera and recording equipment, while Arthur and Antonio set up the ouija board on the study desk. A candle was lit, the camera feed was tested and established, and the quartet wished the duo luck before they shut the library door, leaving Arthur and Antonio alone.</p>
<p>"Are you ready?" Arthur asked the other.</p>
<p>"For this?" Antonio replied. "Not really. I never am. But I think I'll survive."</p>
<p>"Good. In which case…"</p>
<p>He set his hand onto the board and Antonio did the same, the light of the candle just barely illuminating the space around them. Arthur reminded them both that no matter what happened, they had things with them for protection (namely Antonio's crucifix and the holy water) and that they could sever the line of communication by simply saying 'goodbye'. Glad for the refresher (<em>Antonio really looks uncomfortable with this, for someone who suggested earlier that we go straight for the ouija</em>), Antonio invited Arthur to get them started.</p>
<p>No sooner had he greeted the ghost and opened the room to whatever spirit may have been kingering in the house, however, did things start to take a turn. During the next handful of minutes, the flame of the candle flickered as though someone was blowing lightly against it; the sound of shuffling—like someone rearranging books—encircled them; the spirit began to spell out their name on the board once prompted (<em>V-A-R-G...</em>); and then the candlelight went out entirely.</p>
<p>Fumbling for a match, Arthur hurried to relight the candle so they could see what was going on, his heart starting to pound.</p>
<p>The new light cast upon the room lit up the board, the desk, Antonio, and— </p>
<p>Arthur dropped the match on the floor, the candle only just being lit in time.</p>
<p>Antonio stared at him with pleading eyes, unable to speak as a large, pale hand covered his mouth, begging for one simple thing: <em> help me. </em></p>
<p>Outside of the room, Arthur could hear the others trying to get inside, their voices calling out to the pair as the doorhandle rattled violently in an attempt to get to them.</p>
<p>A blade—something small, like a letter opener—was held far too close to Antonio's throat for either of them to feel comfortable.</p>
<p>His breath caught in his lungs.</p>
<p>"Mr. Vargas," he said, trying not to let his voice shake and entirely betray how utterly terrified he was in that moment (<em>no one else is getting hurt on my watch, not again!</em>), "we want to help you. Please, just— let my friend go. Tell me what happened to you, and we can help you. I promise."</p>
<p>He felt the ghost's eyes bore into his own, as though they peered right past his human skin and through to his soul. He felt he was being studied, judged. Arthur tried again to assure the man that they only wanted to help him move on—that they were good people who were there to help him find peace so he could finally leave that house and go on to the afterlife that awaited him. </p>
<p>The words did nothing to soothe the spirit.</p>
<p>The last thing Arthur remembered seeing was the candle extinguishing again, before he heard a muffled scream from across the desk, and the darkness then swallowed him whole.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>happy new year! new year, new work! tadaaa!!</p>
<p>i have wanted to write an au like this for so, so long. and i finally found the inspiration! this is a short work but it's a fairly linear plot, so it doesn't get complicated. it just... takes a turn ;)</p>
<p>note: the 'undisclosed relationships' tag exists for a reason - because #spoilers :D i may change it later down the line once all 5 chapters are out. i may not.. ~who knows~ for now, just sit back and (hopefully) enjoy &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Exodus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arthur wakes up after the incident in the library. Where he finds himself is... well... impossible. From there, the mystery only deepens, and the team has to start investigating the 'normal' as opposed to the 'paranormal'.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur shot upright with a gasp for air, like he’d just woken from a nightmare, his breath all arrhythmic and laboured. He blinked. A hand went to his heart (<em>am I alive?</em>) and another to his face (<em>warm cheeks; mostly alive</em>). With that knowledge in mind, his eyes focused on the room around him, and he found he was… somewhere different. Somewhere he didn’t recognise in the slightest. He was sitting at a desk, papers half-written in front of him, and just out of the window, a street he didn’t know.</p><p>That wasn’t even the weirdest part. The fabric under his hand was equally unfamiliar. It was smooth and soft, and a quick glance revealed a waist coat and shirt—far from what he last recalled wearing, which had been little more than a comfy jumper and jeans, back when they had been investigating the—</p><p><em> The house</em>. It clicked. </p><p>Arthur stood up suddenly from his seat (perhaps a little too fast, as he felt momentarily light-headed). Wherever he was was of little importance. <em> Where are the others? Are they okay? Where the fuck are we? </em></p><p>He got his answer when the door to the bedroom opened and he was greeted by Francis, similarly dressed as though this were some period drama. He smiled upon seeing Arthur was awake. Arthur was still baffled and greatly concerned. Was this a nightmare? Limbo? Hell? <em> Am I dead? </em></p><p>“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Francis said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Arthur decided to ignore that question entirely. “What happened? Where— Where are we? And where are the others?”</p><p>A dry laugh passed the other’s lips. “I wish there was a clear answer for that,” Francis replied. “No one really knows, to be honest. The four of us were outside the room—the library—and while we were trying to get in, everything just suddenly went dark. I woke up downstairs in the living room with Gilbert and company, and we sort of… figured we are currently either experiencing a very weird communal dream, or we are in Victorian England.”</p><p>Arthur reeled and blinked. <em> Record scratch. </em>“Vic— Victorian England?”</p><p>“<em>W</em><em>ell,</em>” Francis mused, “maybe late-Georgian, I'm not too sure. I always get those two periods muddled up…"</p><p>"Forget that—you think we're in the past?! The bloody <em> 1800s </em>?!"</p><p>"According to the local paper, we are," the taller blonde nodded. "1831."</p><p>Arthur did not like this and hoped deep down that it really was a nightmare. This made no logical sense, otherwise. Why would they be in the 1800s? <em> How </em> could they be in the 1800s? Time travel was not a thing!<em>…</em> <em>Unless… </em></p><p>Their ghost. Their ghost had been a living human in 1831. What if this was his doing, what if this was all because of Vargas? Had he sent them back? How would he even have such power? Ghosts could barely interact with real world objects because of the energy they lacked, let alone send six humans back nearly two-hundred years to…</p><p>
  <em> Oh my god, the ghost! </em>
</p><p>Arthur's heart swelled with fear and he hurried to the door, having to sort of budge Francis out of the way, who evidently didn't share in his sudden panic. </p><p>"Where are you going?" Francis called as he chased after the other. "Where's the fire?"</p><p>"Where is <em> Antonio</em>?" Arthur threw back.</p><p>He may not have remembered much of what happened back in the library before he woke up at a strange desk in a strange time, but he wouldn't ever be able to forget Antonio's eyes, the pleading, <em> help me</em>, and the scream that preceded the sudden dark. As far as he knew, Antonio was dead. The ghost had killed him… He had killed him right in front of Arthur, and he had failed to save him… </p><p>"He's downstairs with the others," Francis told him as they got to the staircase. Arthur stopped suddenly two steps down and turned around the look at him, questioning what he'd said as though he hadn't quite heard. "He's fine, he's honestly fine. Go on—" He gestured down the stairs. "—they're all in the living room."</p><p>Arthur slowly nodded. <em> It's okay, he's okay, breathe, they're all okay. </em> Okay. That was good. They were fine. He was fine. You know, despite the whole suddenly being in the Georgian era (Victoria was 1837, but he would save that History lesson for another day, when things were a bit more… normal). That was less okay. But their physical wellbeing was the most important, he figured, so it would be alright. Francis would have told him if anything were severely wrong, wouldn't he?</p><p>They continued down the stairs in a less hurried, frantic manner, nevertheless. Francis guided Arthur around the corner and down the hall of what seemed to be a pleasantly rustic cottage, complete with exactly the furnishings he'd expect, and into the 'living room'. Inside, Alfred sat with Mikkel on a fine dark wood sofa with a light upholstery (<em>talk about classy</em>), while Gilbert was seemingly interrogating them (really, he was just making sure they were okay, like the secret worry-wart he was), and Antonio sat quietly on a wooden armchair. Arthur could confirm: he was indeed in one piece.</p><p>He was even smiling.</p><p>They locked eyes and Antonio gave a soft 'ahh', and a louder 'good morning!', which alerted the others to his presence. Eyes fell on Arthur as he stepped into the room, allowing Francis to pass him, and he greeted them in turn with a silent nod. He was still trying to wrap his head around everything…</p><p>Still, that didn't stop him from addressing the team's brunette, who seemed rather content with whatever was happening (<em>is he in shock?</em>). "Antonio," Arthur said, drawing the other's attention back to him. "Are you feeling okay? Not hurt or anything?"</p><p>Antonio raised a curious brow. "I'm fine…? Why do you ask?"</p><p>"Oh, no reason," the blonde said, his breath escaping him, "other than the fact that I'm <em> ninety-nine percent sure </em> the spirit killed you while we were both in the library."</p><p>The room fell still.</p><p>"I don't… I don't remember," Antonio told him, looking bewildered. Arthur figured there wasn't a good way to take such news, but at least he hadn't screamed or gasped or… reacted too negatively. Perhaps being in <em> fucking Georgian England </em> was a bigger shock for now. "I don't remember anything beyond the board, other than darkness, so… I couldn't… <em> say…</em>"</p><p>"But you feel okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, I do. Pretty normal, all things…" He lightly coughed. "All things considered…"</p><p>"Alright. In which case, we can worry about that later," Arthur concluded. He paced further into the room and addressed everyone as he said: "For now, we need to work out what in God's name is going on, and why we are <em> here </em>, rather than at Gallows Head."</p><p>"The paper says it's 1831," Alfred informed him, to which Arthur assured him he had already been made aware.</p><p>"Maybe it has something to do with the ghost," Mikkel then suggested—also a thought that had already crossed the Brit's mind.</p><p>"Before everything went… black," Antonio spoke up, directing his question at Arthur, "what actually happened? I mean, you saw the ghost, I assume. You remember more than I do, so… what did we experience while we were in the library?"</p><p>The answer? Not a lot. Arthur explained to them as much. The two of them had barely gotten started when activity had spiked, and from there, it had only gone downhill fast; the ghost appeared (<em>definitely looked like Vargas, and I'm sure he spelt his name onto the board</em>), out went the candle, and the spirit had become aggressive. He had held Antonio at knife point (<em>a letter-opener is still a sharp weapon, Alfred…</em>) and Arthur had begged the ghost to let him go, to talk to him about what happened so they could help, and then everything just… faded.</p><p>Francis was the first to break the resulting silence: "Perhaps," he began to suggest, "Vargas wants to <em> show </em> us what happened to him…"</p><p>"What— What do you mean?"</p><p>"I mean that, rather than <em> telling </em> you," the blonde reiterated, "maybe it was easier for him to show us what happened so that we can help him. Maybe it is something far too complicated to explain."</p><p>Gilbert hastily disagreed. "Explaining literal rocket science would be easier than sending people back in time to solve a haunting."</p><p>"But even so, we can't really doubt that it isn't because of Vargas we are here," Francis countered in turn. "I think we are here for one simple reason: to work out how and why he died, so that we can work out, <em> in the present</em>, why he is still attached to the house."</p><p>It was a fairly solid theory, for how loose wild theories usually were. But they had no other explanation. Arthur didn't like it. He didn't like knowing a spirit had this sort of power, because it begged the question: <em> what else is he capable of? </em> Nevertheless, it was all they had to go on, and it soon became apparent that Francis had been making himself and his skills very useful ever since he had woken up:</p><p>"Now, this will sound absolutely ludicrous," he began to say, once everyone was more or less onboard with his already ludicrous-enough theory, "but we are currently in the home of one Doctor Arthur Forester."</p><p>Arthur had to do a double-take when he found Francis pointing at him. "M-Me? Have you lost your mi—"</p><p>"Just hear him out," Mikkel interrupted; "this is pretty cool, to be honest."</p><p><em> Mikkel must have been the next one up after Francis</em>, was the conclusion Arthur made.</p><p>No doubt feeling that little ego boost riddle his pride, Francis nonetheless smiled and thanked the other, before continuing with everyone's undivided attention: "I have done some research, which has also led me to find that I am Francis du Mont, the doctor's assistant. Gil is now Gilbert Wagner, a local tailor, who works with Mikkel Damgaard, his own assistant, and Alfred is Forester's cousin currently living in the same house as a sort of apprentice."</p><p>"And you know this… <em> how</em>?"</p><p>Francis turned to Arthur. His smile became a more one-sided grin. <em> Smug prick. </em>"It is knowledge I already had, wired up here," he said, tapping a finger lightly against his temple. "You will all feel it, too. And I believe that we have therefore all taken over the bodies of people alive in 1831."</p><p>"But what about me?" Antonio then questioned, everyone turning to where he sat, a little further away from the group. "I have no memory of any of you. I only came to this house because I had the address written down for me when I woke up…"</p><p>At this, Arthur cocked a brow. "You mean you didn't wake up here with the others?" His gaze drifted to Francis, who shook his head, and then back to Antonio who did the same.</p><p>"I was sat on a bench in the village, near the green," the brunette explained rather sheepishly. "I woke up with this paper in my hand and the address written on it, so naturally, not really knowing where I was or why, I came straight here. Francis opened the door, to my relief…"</p><p>"And none of us know his name or who he is?" Arthur then asked the group. They were all shaking their heads now, just as Antonio said: "García," as though testing the name out on his tongue; "but that's all I can think of…"</p><p>"It doesn't make sense that we don't know who he is, yet we all know each other," Gilbert spoke up, brows furrowed with a mix of concern and confusion. "I don't think we have just been sent back in time, and I don't think Fran is entirely right, either."</p><p>"And why not?" the very man asked. <em> Trust him to take offence to that.  </em></p><p>"Because," Gilbert responded, "if we had just taken over bodies then we would know each other as us, as ourselves, from the twenty-first century. Antonio would be Fernández, not García," he said as an example. "So what if… this isn't just a case of us being sent back in time into random bodies?"</p><p>Alfred seemed to cotton on to what he was saying faster than anyone else. "Do you think that's even possible? For us to be linked like that?"</p><p>"I didn't even believe in <em>ghosts</em> until six years ago," Gilbert quipped, "so I'll believe anything, these days."</p><p>"Wow… So, we could actually be living as our past selves?"</p><p>"At this point, anything goes…"</p><p>"Wait, so, hold on," Mikkel rejoined, "are you saying that these are our past lives? And we are… back in our past bodies? In the <em> past</em>?"</p><p>"You might be onto something, there," Francis mumbled begrudgingly.</p><p>"Which means," Antonio then said, "that this is the day we all met, in the past, somehow. And so, this is why Romulus sent us back here and— <em> Ohh…</em>"</p><p>Arthur blinked and stared at Antonio, who had fallen silent. "Oh, <em> what</em>?" he urged. "What is it?"</p><p>"I know why I don't know any of you."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"Because I've only recently moved to England," Antonio stated, his head lulling aside to rest in his hand, "and Romulus Vargas has just gotten engaged to my mother, which makes <em> him </em>… my dear step-father-to-be."</p>
<hr/><p>It didn't take long for the team to fall into old habits. </p><p>Having reached the conclusion that they were indeed living past lives, courtesy of the deceased Old Man Vargas, they had gotten to work collecting what information they could in order to help them get to the bottom of Vargas' death and subsequent haunting. Gilbert almost felt sorry for him, hanging around in the same house for two centuries, but when all he knew of the guy so far was that he had potentially killed the modern version of Antonio (<em>no, there's no 'modern version'; Antonio is Antonio</em>), he wasn't exactly so fond of him that he <em> completely </em> pitied him.</p><p>After all, they were yet to find out why he was still around and unable to move on.</p><p>From the paper, Francis soon figured out that Gallows Head—now situated just outside of the village they were in, out towards the rolling hills—was to be the venue for an engagement party, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of one Romulus Vargas, 'a wealthy business magnate from Italy, moved to England just twenty months prior' to a Catalina García Vaquero, a Spanish heiress whom Vargas already knew. They had met on the Continent and he had invited her to be his wife after a year of courting. Antonio García was her only son, who had moved to England to join the household and complete the family ahead of the wedding. </p><p>Newspapers were amazing sources of exposition.</p><p>Still, the dates, it was revealed, seemed to line up with what little they already knew about Romulus' death. </p><p>"He must have died on the day of the party," Francis observed, "based on what Louise could tell us from the local records."</p><p>"Which means we need to be there to work out what or who killed him," Arthur swiftly concurred, "so that we can help his ghost in the future and let him move on."</p><p>"Which <em> also </em> means," Francis picked up again, "Antonio is our ticket into the party."</p><p>Gilbert could tell (where the others perhaps could not) that that was something than unsettled the brunette. Maybe it was the responsibility mixed in with the fact that he was also still processing that a ghost may or may not have killed him, or at least hurt him, back in 2020 (<em>forward </em> in 2020?) and that they were all living past lives, where his past life involved being very closely linked to that very same potentially deadly ghost. </p><p>It was all in the other's eyes. It was in the silent sigh that saw his shoulders lift slightly under his coat, and then sink back down as he exhaled.</p><p>All the while, a plan was established: they all needed to find out what they could about Vargas from the locals in the area, not just a newspaper or their own memories. If Vargas was killed, they needed to find out who the suspects were, what the motives were, and so on. That meant some legwork was needed. </p><p>Francis said that he and Arthur would have to use patient appointments (Arthur had seemed shocked to be reminded that he was a doctor now, and then shocked further that he actually had some grasp of medical knowledge for said appointments) in order to conduct their research.</p><p>“Gilbert has appointments, too,” Mikkel had pointed out in that moment, before then quietly questioning: “Why is that something I know…?”</p><p>“Because you’re my assistant,” Gilbert had told him, “and it’s what I pay you for.”</p><p>Maybe this tailor work would not be so entirely terrible, after all.</p><p>All the while, it was determined that Gilbert would work and investigate in a similar manner to Arthur and Francis. That left Mikkel and Alfred to wander around the village to get what information they could on the streets, while Antonio went ‘home’ to see what he could do about getting them all into the engagement party, while also studying the Vargas household for himself. </p><p>From there, they would reconvene the following morning at Arthur’s (Forester’s) house and go over their findings at nine o'clock sharp.</p><p>Gilbert was not all that optimistic, in truth.</p><p>Such optimism was not much improved when he actually got to work in his shop, just a few streets away from Arthur’s house, and found that, yes, he had appointments—but only two. Otherwise, all he needed to do that day was some alterings, some adjustments—neither of which involved meeting clients that he could then talk to.</p><p>It was far from ideal.</p><p>However, it was while he was doing some adjustments on a jacket that was being picked up that afternoon that someone did come into the shop. Instinct told him to ignore them, because Mikkel handled the clients while he was working, but then he remembered that Mikkel was out collecting gossip, so he had to stop halfway through a run of stitches so he could deal with the— Young woman. He quickly slapped on a smile as he greeted her.</p><p>“I’m sorry if I have caught you at a bad time, sir,” she said, smiling back at the foreign tailor, “but I have been asked to see if you were available tomorrow morning to do a final check on the coats you made for Mr. Vargas and Master García.”</p><p>Master García? Gilbert amended that for his own sake to Master Fernández, and he had to try not to laugh. Bless Antonio. He was probably one of the least suited to the lifestyle it seemed he had once had, and now he was up in the manor house, trying not to feel too out of depth or out of place. Though, if he had taken to his lifestyle just as well as Gilbert had taken to tailoring (because, damn, did the German have some talent with a needle!) then perhaps he was getting on alright.</p><p>Gilbert could only hope.</p><p>He also then noted he’d forgotten he had ever even made anything for the Vargas household, but his memory had just been jogged, so… </p><p>“The party is the day after tomorrow, correct?” the tailor questioned as he went to his client book to see when he was free tomorrow (<em>curse Mikkel for leaving me</em>). </p><p>“Yessir, that’s right,” the woman nodded. “Mr. Vargas would prefer it if you could come tomorrow, mind you, just so the following day is less busy, if you know what I mean.”</p><p>“That’s fine, don’t you worry,” Gilbert reassured her. His eyes fell onto the page for tomorrow’s appointments and he found that there was indeed a gap (or there would be, with a bit of rearranging, <em> haha…</em>). “I can come to the house for eleven o'clock, if that is of use?"</p><p>It ought to leave him enough time to meet with the other's beforehand, and then maybe link back up with Antonio to go to Gallows Head.</p><p>"That would suit most perfectly," the woman confirmed. "I will let him know—thank you for finding the time, I know this was short notice…"</p><p>"It's no trouble," he smiled again, "I am always happy to help. And of course, I'm sure Mr. Vargas wants everything to go smoothly the day after tomorrow.”</p><p>“He does—he’s running around like a chicken who’s lost its head, if you get my meaning,” she said with a soft laugh. “He wants so desperately for everything to go smoothly, I’ve not seen him so nervous before. Not that he would admit his worries, of course…”</p><p>Gilbert could understand that (but who didn’t?). “Then I will do my part to make sure he looks his best. I’m sure he deserves the happiness… no?”</p><p>“Oh, absolutely, sir. He’s ever so good, ever so kind…” the woman mused, before gifting a light, relaxed sigh. “If you don’t mind me taking the liberty to say so, sir, it’s lovely to see him happy again with Madam García. He was sad for a while, when he first came here, what with the death of his first wife…”</p><p>At that, the tailor’s ears picked up and his intrigue grew. <em> I forgot he had a first wife—I wonder what happened to her… </em> But that was not the only thing Gilbert took from the exchange. As the young woman left and he watched her leave, he noted that she seemed genuinely glad for the man’s engagement, that he had found happiness, and she had been sincere enough when calling him kind. Good.</p><p>Assuming she was staff, maybe it was a sign that he was a fair person to work for. It could suggest he had few enemies within his own house, and that, if Vargas truly was murdered, that they needed to look elsewhere. <em> We’ll just have to see what Antonio finds in the house, what vibes he gets from that lot…  </em></p><p>For now, it was back to stitching, sewing and trimming. </p>
<hr/><p>Mikkel and Alfred had wandered around the village for a good hour, just trying to find out what they could, but it was surprisingly not that easy to just ask a random stranger (even if their past selves did in fact know the person, as their memories showed them) about Vargas. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t talk—rather, it was that it just felt so damn weird going up to someone and asking, <em> oh hey, you know that Italian guy who lives at Gallows Head? Yeah, whaddya make of him? </em></p><p>Or maybe Alfred had just let himself become victim to social anxiety all of a sudden. Wouldn’t <em> that </em> have been hilarious…</p><p>The plan had previously been to go into the pub, have a drink, blend in, ask some questions, and go onto the next location (which was, of course, entirely Mikkel’s idea. Alfred sometimes wondered if the man was secretly a raging alcoholic, and then he remembered, no, he’s just spent the last ten years of his life with Gilbert for company. Not that that turned a man into an alcoholic. Rather, Gilbert was incorrigible, and it was contagious). It seemed like a decent plan until, lo and behold, that anxiety crept up.</p><p>Why was it that Alfred seemed to cope better speaking to ghosts via spirit box (fear-inducing in of itself) than he did with human beings? Perhaps it was because he was still adjusting to this wack-ass time period. People talked differently, and he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. Doctor’s cousin or not.</p><p>Even so, it was lucky for Alfred that, as they approached the pub, it seemed they had in fact been blessed by a higher power. No questions needed to be asked. No human needed to be approached and addressed…</p><p>In front of the pub were three men who seemed to be, at first, merely socialising. Until their conversation got louder and it appeared that the third man—shorter in stature, older in appearance, and looking way more drunk than his peers—was having a massive rant about something. Or some<em> one</em>. Mikkel and Alfred hung back and kept distance from the group so their eavesdropping did not become obvious, instead loitering and pretending to have their own conversation. </p><p>All the while, they listened closely:</p><p>“Let him live in peace, Harry!” one of the other men said, evidently frustrated with the older man’s ramblings. “The man is getting married, he’s happy! Come on, didn’t you hear about his first wife? How she died, God rest her soul? Such a tragedy, the poor man,” he said softly, before asserting that: “He deserves to be happy!”</p><p>The other man seemed far from convinced. Alfred, meanwhile, quickly discerned that they were talking about Vargas. Score! “All of you are defending this man, all <em> woe is him</em>! But I don’t think what happened to that woman was an accident at all—”</p><p>“Slander! Harry!”</p><p>“—and I’ll bet my 'orse he was involved—!”</p><p>“That’s enough!” the final man jumped in before things got too out of hand. The older man, Harry, had gotten up in his opponent’s face, and even Alfred had to admit, he was worried it would go to blows. “Harry, get yourself home and sober up, will you? Get your head screwed back on tight… The village doesn’t need a troublemaker, you hear?”</p><p>Harry grumbled something to himself, before dismissing the pair with a sharp flick of his hand and turning on his heel. He walked on his way, a little unsteady on his feet, and his ‘friends’ retreated back into the confines of the public house. Alfred shared a look with Mikkel, and they agreed almost immediately between them that: we need to follow that man. He seemed to know something, or at the very least, it seemed he was not Vargas’ biggest fan. That made him important. </p><p>They followed him further down the street and around another corner to where the man went to enter what was presumably his home. This is our only shot. Alfred nudged Mikkel, because like Hell was he going to start that little chat on his own, and Mikkel seemed far less worried about approaching the man and striking up conversation.</p><p>“Pardon me, sir,” he said, Harry glancing over his shoulder to see who it was. There didn’t seem to be any recognition, so it was safe to assume that they didn’t know each other. “I apologise if this is a weird thing to say, but my friend and I couldn’t help but hear what you were saying about Mr. Vargas, and I have to admit: I’m curious.”</p><p>“Curious?" he repeated, seeming sceptical. "About what?”</p><p>“Well, we all hear good things, but I wouldn’t mind learning a thing or two from someone who seems to know more about the man than the average person,” Mikkel explained to him. <em> Nicely done, subtly stroke his ego. Call the drunkard ‘above average’, why don’t you.  </em></p><p>“What’s in it for me?”</p><p>Mikkel glanced to Alfred for support, as though he held the answer to that question. Alfred was not too surprised but he mustered up a smile all the same, and thought of something akin to what Arthur often said to him on quiet evenings, when the latter found him sitting on the sofa with a hot chocolate and much quieter than normal: “A shilling for your thoughts?”</p><p>Being a shilling out of pocket was not too big a price to pay, in the end.</p><p>The man, who revealed his full name to be Harold, told them every little thing he could think of about Vargas, totally unfiltered, and it could be summarised in four words: <em> he is no good</em>. Harold did not like him, nor hold him to any sort of esteem in comparison to the others who lived in the village.</p><p>“The man is secretive,” Harold had told them; “he barely talks about his past, pretends to be all upset by it all… You know what I mean? He just moved to England from Italy, and that’s all we can be sure of. He’s a so-called ‘magnate’—but of what? No one seems to know,” he had rambled on, which had been a point that Alfred had not thought of. He wondered what it was that Vargas actually did… “Some’ll say it’s modesty, but a modest man doesn’t buy a big house and invite people over, trying to befriend everyone in the damned village and beyond…”</p><p>In all, Harold had said that Romulus Vargas was trouble, and that the village would be better off without him.</p><p>“Do you know who’ll be attending the engagement party?” Mikkel had subsequently asked the man. “I assumed it would be a big event?”</p><p>“With any luck, no one’ll go, but knowing this lot, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a large crowd,” he had replied with a huff. “I’ll be staying away, anyhow. I don’t want anything to do with that man and that house…”</p><p>And with that, there had been little else to ask, so they had left Harold to enter his home, and continued on their way.</p><p>They mutually agreed that it had been a very useful conversation—that even if Harold would be at home during the event, it certainly seemed that Vargas was not perhaps all he seemed to be. Alfred just hoped that whatever it was that the man living at Gallows Head was hiding, that it wasn’t anything too deep or troubling. He was a paranormal investigator, after all—not a detective!</p>
<hr/><p>It had been a fruitless effort thus far, and Arthur was glad to be informed by Francis that he had an hour gap now between having to see any clients. Of the few people he had already seen that morning and early afternoon, all he had heard were essentially rave reviews of their not-yet-a-ghost. From praising his looks to his outgoing personality, Arthur felt he had heard it all already. And he was <em> sick of it. </em></p><p>Apparently, he was a generous man, an investor in some local businesses; he was kind and warm and charming to men, women and children alike; he wasn't too proud or stubborn and made every effort to befriend the locals, even hosting two events on his property to build up a sense of community. In all, he had been welcomed with open arms by the British folks, who all seemed more or less enthralled by the Italian man living just outside their village.</p><p>And to Arthur, that meant fuck all. Because a man who was loved had no enemies, so who on earth were they supposed to keep an eye on? Who were they meant to suspect? And why did Romulus think that showing them all of this would be of any use if his potential murderer was unclear? </p><p>He voiced this concern to Francis as they stood in the kitchen, the Brit being attentive over a pot of tea that he wished he had in the modern era, because it was very charming and pretty—but that was a less important thought to share. All the while, Francis was fixing something simple for them to eat. Their contentment in preparing things made it clear to Arthur why he—or rather, why Dr. Forester—did not have any hired help. It was much simpler and calm this way. Just him, Francis, and tranquility. </p><p>He would enjoy this more peaceful lifestyle while he could.</p><p>Meanwhile, Francis had been thinking closely about what Arthur had said, it seemed, because before long he said himself that: "I don't think that everything we have heard is a bad thing, you know."</p><p>Arthur vehemently disagreed. "What use is all that information when it doesn't even give us a reason as to why someone might dislike him? Let alone kill him?"</p><p>"Assuming he definitely is murdered in two days' time."</p><p>"Yes, <em>assuming</em> he's murdered…" The doctor gave a tired sigh. "But even so, I don't see what use it is. No motive, no enemies—the man might as well be Jesus!"</p><p>Francis chuckled at that, to the other's disdain. "I don't know how familiar you are with the Bible," he said, "but Jesus was sort of murdered in that one. Just because someone is a good man does not mean he is universally adored, hm? And anyway," he then emphasised, clearly coming to the more important point; "it's better to have less suspects. It means there are less people we need to watch. So yes: I think it's good that people have sung his praises, because we don't need to worry about them."</p><p>"But we hardly have time to interrogate an entire village about their views on Vargas—"</p><p>"That may be so," Francis interrupted before Arthur could get too worked up on his counter-argument, "but surely what this means is we should focus on those going to the party exclusively. If there are no obvious public resentments, then we need to turn our attention to those who will have the opportunity to bring Vargas harm."</p><p>"So… you think we should simply wait until the night?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>It was not something Arthur wanted to admit right away, but he was starting to feel that Francis was right. Arthur was so used to seeing things from a 'glass half-empty' perspective that it could be hard to find a silver lining when things seemed to be going wrong. So, Arthur actually appreciated Francis' insight. He probably didn't tell him that often enough. But Francis was wise and calm and more observant than most, and he deserved that recognition… </p><p>"Thank you," he therefore said, which seemed to catch the other blonde off-guard. "I mean it," Arthur nodded when Francis gave him a curious look; "thank you. I think you're… right. About this one. That— That we should focus on the partygoers."</p><p>(It occurred to him that half of the village could be on the guest list, but that was still half of a village less than a whole village. So it was still less work, less stress. Arthur just had to hope that it wasn't someone from out of town who would be causing their problem, otherwise... well, he might as well call it quits now!)</p><p>"Well, uh… I'm just happy to be able to help," Francis smiled at him—a gesture that Arthur was happy to return, on this rarer of occasions. "That's what I'm here for, right? We all work better as a team."</p><p>"We sure do," Arthur concurred. "I mean, there'd be no point in searching amongst the entire village population for a killer, you're absolutely correct… And we're just assuming he was murdered, but his unfinished business could be about anything—we can't even be sure. Who's to say his unfinished business isn't simply a message he never had a chance to pass on, or something he was unable to fix before he died?"</p><p>"Now <em> that</em>," Francis hummed, taking in the corner of his lips between his teeth, "is also entirely possible…"</p><p>Suddenly, their investigation seemed to become a little more complicated than any of them could have ever wanted.</p>
<hr/><p>Antonio felt he had adjusted fairly well to his new environment, though he did have the feeling that that had something to do with the previous 'Antonio' he was sharing a brain with. The 'other Antonio' was already used to this sort of lifestyle, after all. Perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising that some things were like second nature, now…</p><p>Not much had come from Antonio's day in Gallows Head. </p><p>He had spent some time talking with staff, with his mother, and with Romulus himself, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary or amiss with anyone. It appeared to be a perfectly normal household, and Romulus seemed like a decent human being, perfectly easy to get along with. Something told Antonio, therefore, that there was more to this ghost business than what met the eye.</p><p>Even so, by the early evening, Antonio had found some time to spend alone (at last) and had ventured to the house's library.</p><p>It was weird being inside that room again and seeing it in its full glory (really, the entire house was odd to see in such a way) and he didn't particularly want to hang around in there for too long. He may not have remembered the entire encounter with the spirit, but that didn't make it any easier to think that Arthur saw… <em> something</em>, while they were in there. Antonio didn't believe he had been killed because he felt perfectly alive (unless this was just some messed up version of Heaven, which he highly doubted) but he was not going to worry about that. Priority was Romulus, the poor man…</p><p>He had, of course, taken the opportunity to search the desk, <em>just in case.</em> His morals had at first protested, because he had felt he was invading someone's privacy, but he had also reminded himself that this could help Romulus in the long run. He could find a clue, he could find an answer. So, it was straight into the desk drawers he went!</p><p>There wasn't much to find at first. He would have been surprised if anything too private or important was in the library rather than in Romulus' personal study or in his room, in all honesty. No one was that careless. And, in the end, it seemed Romulus certainly was not.</p><p>There were a couple letters of little significance—and ones that dates back several weeks—and far from revealing. Amongst them was a document about proposed some property development on the edge of Gallows Head's land, which had been scrawled over in red ink (<em>ouch</em>), but Antonio couldn't see who it had come from amongst the various letter-senders, all from out of town (<em>I</em><em>'ll speak to the staff, they might have the gossip...</em>). Other than that, the drawers were barren.</p><p>With that, Antonio had ended that small stage of his investigation, and decided to take a book from the library to keep himself occupied for the time being.</p><p>He found himself quickly lost in the pages of his selection as he walked back towards his designated bedroom upstairs in the West Wing. That was all very well and good, until, having gotten up the stairs, he turned to continued down a hallway and ended up colliding with Romulus himself. Antonio fumbled and apologised profusely, but the man brushed it off with a laugh.</p><p>"Found another good book to get lost in, have we?" the Italian man questioned. He peered down at the book Antonio was reading, who did him the courtesy of showing him the cover so he could read the title. </p><p>"I definitely have," Antonio said in the meantime. "It's a good library, I would hate to not make use of it."</p><p>"Well, at least one of us will," Romulus smiled. "I don't read as much as I should, these days. It's a shame… Getting lost in the world of a book is one of the greatest feelings we can ever be blessed with, to give us an escape from our own realities. Don't you think?"</p><p>Antonio nodded slowly, starting to smile as well. "I do, absolutely! It is almost… <em> magical </em>."</p><p>"You should see the library in my home back in Italy," the other then commented. "It is much bigger, with many more texts from other countries. Perhaps one day soon, I could show you."</p><p>The prospect thrilled both the 'modern' and 'past' Antonios at the same time. "That would be wonderful," he said in awe. "Though, if I did go to Italy, I would hope to maybe escape into the countryside there as opposed to a book. I have never been there before."</p><p>"Then one day, I will take you, and give you a personal tour," Romulus promised him. He set a hand on Antonio's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I think you'd like it."</p><p>"I'm sure I would," he agreed.</p><p>As Romulus removed his hand after giving the other's shoulder a pat, still smiling that lovely, warm, parental smile (<em>I wish my father had smiled at me like that…</em>) Antonio closed his book with his finger acting as a bookmark. Before the other walked off, however, he recalled something important he needed to ask of him, so he called over to Romulus before he got too far down the opposite hallway to his room. The man (<em>my step-father-to-be</em>) stopped and turned, his silence inviting Antonio to speak.</p><p>"Sorry, I just— I forgot to ask earlier on," the younger brunette said, "but I was wondering if I could invite a couple friends from the village to the party?"</p><p>"I don't see why not," Romulus replied with a nod. "I believe they say 'the more the merrier', no? It's not like I have sent any formal invitations, so please, just tell them to come along."</p><p>"Thank you," Antonio smiled.</p><p>"Of course. I am just happy you've already befriended some people, bearing in mind you have only been here for three weeks. It is very good to see."</p><p><em> Three weeks? I could have sworn it was longer</em>, Antonio told himself as the pair parted ways and he continued on towards his bedroom. <em> But maybe it just feels like longer because things have been slow</em>. </p><p>Either way, he was glad that he could tell the others that they were all good to come along to the party without issue. That was vital. And he was just relieved it had been that easy.</p><p>Once back in his room, Antonio sat down at the writing desk and opened his book back up again. There was a slight fluttering in his stomach, like an anxiousness or something settling in his core. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he was just worried about the party, about what would happen. He had felt a similar feeling earlier that day when he had been discussing the very same party with Romulus in the kitchen, who had been asking for final opinions on the food that would be provided during the festivities.</p><p>He concluded it was simply nerves. The thought that Romulus would die in two days' time hung heavily on his shoulders, and he didn't want it to happen. It made Antonio wonder if they could perhaps save the man, spare him his fate as a haunting spirit…</p><p><em> Is re-writing history like that even possible? </em> he asked himself. Probably not. But that didn't mean Antonio couldn't try, or that, at the very least, that he couldn't do his part to make sure the next two days at Gallows Head were happy ones…</p><p>It was the least he could for the man that made both Catalina and himself very happy, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so, things are properly getting underway. and they're stuck in 1831. is it a dream? is it Hell? or is it real? no one knows but they're going to have to stick with it. </p><p>time to start the countdown to Romulus' death.</p><p>please note: this story's rating is Mature. i wanted to remind you, because Chapters 4 and 5 will be heavy, and while i don't want to outwardly spoil what is going to happen because it's sUCh a twist, i think it's important to just bear that rating in mind. we ARE going to see how and why Romulus dies - and it isn't sunshine and rainbows. sorry in advance, but just... don't come for me if you aren't prepared to be a little open-minded about what is to come. thanks &lt;3</p>
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